


Metempsychosis

by shimadagans



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Ayutthaya, Baihu Genji Shimada, Genyatta Zine 2018, Lunar New Year, M/M, Sanzang Zenyatta
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-03
Updated: 2018-06-03
Packaged: 2019-05-17 13:07:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14832833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shimadagans/pseuds/shimadagans
Summary: me·tem·psy·cho·sisnoun:the supposed transmigration at death of the soul of a human being or animal into a new body of the same or a different species.Two old gods enjoy a festival together. Two souls find each other again.





	Metempsychosis

**Author's Note:**

> This is a collaborative work for the 2018 Genyatta zine with gayintotheiris on tumblr. Please view his work [here](https://gayintotheiris.tumblr.com/post/174482757425/my-full-piece-for-the-genyattazine-look-out-cause) . Also, please view the other works for the zine [here](http://genyattazine.tumblr.com/) .

The festival isn’t quite fully in bloom when they arrive. They do not arrive together, but it seems the cosmos are intent on them meeting. Sanzang voices as much when he catches a flash of white, a shock of blue from the corner of his vision. What he gets in return is a peal of laughter, a streak of youth out of his decidedly not youthful companion.

“You always say such…” Baihu seems to wrestle with his words for a moment, hopping off the roof he had been perched upon “…cyptic things.”

“Had I any shame, you would see it,” comes the response, sure and easy as the tide. “What brings you here, my dearest protector?”

“The same as you, I am sure,” Baihu nearly preens, feline, “You feel it, it feels right to be here during this time.”

Sanzang inclines his head and turns his gaze to the slowly gathering crowd, to the stalls being set up, to the liveliness beginning to set the stone of the old temple alight. The people already here are finishing the preparations for their annual festival of the new year, bustling in the early morning light. Here, in this ancient city, surrounded by a celebration of new life, of what is yet to come, even he feels young.

“Well, whatever the reason, we are both here. Why not see what there is to offer?” He turns back to Baihu, offering one hand.

There is no hesitation when they link arms and descend from the high balcony.

* * *

 

The morning shifts into afternoon with only the sun’s notice, the crowd too happy to relish in the chance to celebrate. They watch as people bring platters of food to the monks who tend the temple, and Sanzang aches a little for a time long past. They participate in washing the statues that dot the temple grounds, if only for wryness. By the time Baihu hands their borrowed bucket back to a monk, the sun is overhead, making the bright clothes and flowers around them seem even brighter.

“It isn’t often that the people here get to celebrate,” Baihu notes, veritably licking his chops after finishing the rest of his giant freshwater prawn, skewered. “I admire their commitment to a good party.”

“You of all beings would sympathize,” Sanzang hides his smile behind a golden cuff. “Especially since so many people here are paying you compliments on your, ah, _costume_.”

He earns another flash of teeth, just a bit too sharp to be worldly. “It only works with the helmet, though. Not nearly as impressive without it.”

Sanzang reaches across the thousand-year gap between them, catching Baihu’s chin in one hand, covetous and thoughtful, “Just as impressive, if not more so, I think.”

The temple itself is not large, but when he drinks in Baihu’s stunned half-smile, he feels twice as tall as the highest spire.

Sanzang leads them to a stall where flowers are being handed out—to be used in the building of sand pagodas down by the riverbank—and is in the middle of deliberating between fragrant lilies or a bundle of small ochre buds when a sight catches Baihu’s eye.

“Look.” he puts a hand on Sanzang’s shoulder, guiding his view to the approaching group of people, soaked to the bone in their bright, dripping clothing. Their laughter gives them both pause, conversation drifting past them and the flowers around them. Sanzang removes his mask once more, whisking it off into the nether. Whimsy dawning in his eyes, and his hand settling over Baihu’s on his shoulder, he asks, with mirth, “Would you humor me, dear tiger?”

“Have I ever _not_ humored you, dear monk?” comes Baihu’s amused reply.

They catch the attention of the group, the joy of the children and elderly alike tangible to Sanzang’s senses, the purest form of harmony. Baihu smiles again when the group tells them where to go and Sanzang wonders if perhaps _this_ is the purest form of harmony.

* * *

 

There’s a burst of chime-like laughter as Baihu flattens his wet hair back against his head, almost regretting adhering to Sanzang’s request that he remove his helmet in the spirit of fairness. Sanzang peeks out from behind a pillar, one hand covering his mouth, not looking the slightest bit apologetic. The people running the little arena meant for just throwing water on one another had made this sound so simple, and yet here he was, being quite easily bested by perhaps the cosmos’ greatest trickster.

“Sometimes I forget,” Baihu calls out, ducking behind cover again, prowling around another corner, “That you are technically younger than I am.”

“Does age truly apply to deities?” comes the reply, and Baihu tracks the sweet sound, a true hunter, following him closely. “I believe it truly is a technicality.”

“I only meant that you certainly have a more youthful nature,” he continues, sidling up against a wall, certain he’s found his target just around the side of the maze-like gardens set up for the water fights. “Do you not agree, Sanzang?”

“I do not disagree,” comes the reply, much closer than Baihu thought it would be, and he has but two seconds to consider that fact before he’s thoroughly doused with water, sputtering and jumping about four feet in the air.

Sanzang watches him yet _again_ push his hair out of his eyes, giggling almost gleefully, “I would say I am sorry, but you wouldn’t stop talking, it made it very easy to find you.”

The sight of the once-monk, clutching his sides and laughing so hard he almost falls over leaves Baihu feeling less sour than he thought he would after losing to his ‘prey’. It still doesn’t stop him from upending the rest of his own bowl of water over Sanzang’s head and dashing off to refill it and calling “Best two out of three!” over his shoulder.

Being as they are, exhaustion doesn’t catch them, but after a dozen or so rounds Sanzang sets down his bowl on the wall on the edge of the makeshift arena, framing the sun in his hands like he wants to catch it in his fingers.

“The day is starting to get away from us, dear one,” Sanzang says, bringing his fingers back to their customary steeple, “and we have only sampled some of the energy here.”

Baihu joins him at the ledge, peering out at the treetops, then down to the riverbank below, “Look, Sanzang, we have yet to sample that. Are they making…castles?”

Sanzang brightens again, almost glowing, clapping his hands together once, “Oh, yes! That is why I was looking at the flowers earlier. How would you like to play architect?”

“Instead of playing god? How novel,” Baihu laughs at his own joke, unabashed, but he lets Sanzang tug him towards the path leading down to the river.

* * *

 

The riverbank is sparsely populated by the time they arrive, Baihu carrying armfuls of flowers and Sanzang guiding him along the shore until they find a small space not already occupied by a mound of sand. Sanzang agrees to start on the base of the structure, eyes already alight with ideas, and Baihu is more than happy to let him have at it. He combs the waterline for the prettiest pebbles in the meantime, calling out to his companion whenever he finds a particularly marvelous one. Sanzang, in turn, is pleased to find a place near the flowers for each gift among his sculpture, and if the stones he’s given start to float in a ring around him in his contentedness, nobody is any the wiser.

After a time passes, maybe a millennium, maybe an hour, they stand at the shoreline, looking at their joint creation with something like pride, but a touch softer. Baihu places a single stick of incense in the small hole at the top, already smoking, and he bows his head, somber for just a moment. Sanzang doesn’t ask for whom he prays, knowing already how easily the paths of fate can turn. Instead, he turns back to the river, trying once again to pinch the sun between his fingers, trying to slow its descent idly.

“I think,” he says, when he feels Baihu join him again, “that our time for now is waning.”

He gets no verbal answer yet, but instead he receives an embrace, hands on his waist, a chin perched on his shoulder. Then, like faraway thunder, melancholy, “Already? Days seem so short, now.”

“It comes with the territory.” Sanzang says. “Gaining immortality means losing many other things, like the ability to keep time, or a current sense of fashion.”

“Speak for yourself,” Baihu huffs, pressing his nose to Sanzang’s neck, seemingly unwilling to let go. Sanzang feels a pang of familiarity for their situation; how many times have they stood like this, about to drift apart?

“The truth is evident, but,” Sanzang gestures up to the temple, “I would consider it a gift to spend the rest of our time here with you, enjoying what we can of the festival.”

Baihu is quiet again before he perks up, starting to pull Sanzang back towards the temple walls. “Aren’t there usually fireworks at these sorts of things? Here.” He scoops Sanzang up with ease, smiling at the yelp he gets in response. “I’ll get us the best vantage point.”

He scales the walls of the temple deftly, even with Sanzang in one arm, perhaps showing off a bit as he ghosts over the tallest spire and leaps to the top of the statue in the middle of the temple square, unearthly strength and speed thankfully ignored by the gathering crowd as everyone gazes upwards in anticipation.

They settle just as the fireworks start, perched upon the head of the elephant statue, lounging against one another, a gold and silver tangle. The sun douses them in rich hues as they watch, though whether they watch the fireworks or one another is unknown to any but themselves. Baihu, never one for sitting still for long, shifts, standing up. Sanzang tilts his head up at him in wordless question, reaching up for him. Baihu reaches back down for him in turn, easing him onto his feet as well.

“How long has it been since we last danced?” Baihu asks, already starting to sway. As if on his cue, a group of musicians below begins to play, with percussive interludes by the fireworks above them.

“A very long time.” comes Sanzang’s response, thoughtful. “The last time we were together, it was because you had accidentally summoned me by almost dying in battle. I didn’t ask last time but, could you please keep that to a minimum?”

Even through his helmet, Sanzang can practically see the pout on Baihu’s face, “I wasn’t _dying_ , I was being intentionally dramatic.” Quieter, then, “You didn’t want to see me?”

Sanzang squeezes his shoulder, insistent, “You know very well that I always want to see you. I just didn’t want to see you laughing at someone while clutching a wound.”

Baihu snorts and squeezes Sanzang’s waist in return, “In my defense, his reaction when I refused to just keel over was definitely worth it. Did you see his face?”

Sanzang turns them both in a small spin on the edge of the statue, earnest, “No, I was too busy looking at yours.”

That gets Baihu to throw back his head and he laughs, joyful despite the topic. “Still a flatterer after all this time, I see.”

“I merely think my honesty from my previous lives has carried over. I was a monk once, you know.” Sanzang steps a bit closer to him, back to where they settled. “Simple and honest.”

“You are anything but simple,” is the immediate response, Baihu welcoming his closeness with a tighter hold, “I feel as if I could study you for millennia and still not understand why or how you are so perfect.”

“Perhaps because I am a god?” Sanzang replies, wryly, then maybe a bit bashful. “Your words, as always, give me more credit than I am due.”

“Not enough credit,” Baihu corrects him, dipping Sanzang easily in his hold, “You could ask me to bring you perfection and I’d have to bring you to yourself.”

“Why would I ask you to do that, when wonder incarnate stands before me?” Sanzang teases back, fluid as he rejoins Baihu on two steady feet, continuing at Baihu’s huffed annoyance. “A discussion, perhaps, for another time. Our time here draws short, and we both have duties to tend to before we may see each other once again.”

Baihu leans forward with a sigh, like clouds full of rain yet to fall. “I know.” And then, nudging his helmet against Sanzang’s mask, softer, “I know, but you must promise me that we’ll see each other again soon, as soon as we are both able.”

“I do not often make promises that I cannot be sure I will keep,” Sanzang says, a touch hesitant as their dance starts to slow, as the music quiets, “But through our combined will, I’m sure we will see it through. You know I can hardly deny you anything.”

“In whatever time and place, you know I cannot deny you anything, either,” Baihu replies, and they sway on the head of the statue for a mere few moments more before everything goes hazy and someone is calling his name—

“Zenyatta?”

Zenyatta comes back to himself fully, slowly acknowledging his systems running in the background, 3 hours, 8 minutes, and 23 seconds of received data during his meditation. Genji kneels before him, one hand gently upon his knee as he floats down to join him on the ground.

“You seemed deep in your meditation cycle, I didn’t wish to rouse you until now but…” Genji takes his visor and breather pieces off from his helmet’s frame. “Midnight is upon us, the others wanted me to at least see if we would join them. Hana was particularly insistent, she says she wants everyone to be in her annual new year’s selfie.” His eyes twinkle with mirth and Zenyatta finds himself much more firmly in the present.

“I would love to, Genji.” he says warmly, rising to float a bit further off the ground. Genji slides up to join him, pressing a kiss to his forehead array on the way up. “I saw the most interesting scene while looking through the Iris, would you like to hear about it?”

There’s the telltale sound of Genji slipping his helmet pieces back in before he responds, but when he does, there’s a familiar, almost electric curiosity in his voice. “Oh? What did you see?”

“Something I think you’d enjoy. Something about fate, like out of the stories you’ve told me about the dragons.” Zenyatta lets Genji usher him towards the door, “I’ll tell you on the way to join the others.”

“You always say such cryptic things, Zen,” Genji laughs, pressing another kiss to the chrome of his head before he closes the door behind them, “Tell me everything.”


End file.
